


Deus Ex Machina

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [40]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14185782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: Tarn was not supposed to be saved by the bomb.





	Deus Ex Machina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Okkkay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okkkay/gifts).



> Written for an "emotions of a scene" challenge, to which I've lost the link of the plot. My note-keeping could use some work. Essentially, Okkkay wrote the emotions for a piece as yet unposted, and I interpreted them, writing my own scene from them. Also have to point out, this was the very first time I'd written for Tarn and mostly only knew that he was an asshole tank with a magic killer voicebox.

The run-in had been purest chance. On shore for fuel and supplies, Tarn had certainly not expected to spot the K-class Lister alone at a booth. The others, then, must not be far. Tarn studied the coward for a time as he haggled with the vendor over parts. Perhaps, Tarn considered, he had been putting too many things off. Perhaps it was time to address this issue. Eliminate it because it was here, instead of attempting to engage so strictly by measure of the betrayal to the Cause.

So he waited and followed the creature away, biding his time through the seedy space port city until the crowds thinned. It, or whichever of its companions named itself in charge, Tarn hardly remembered or cared, showed some semblance of intelligence in parking their shuttle in an out of the way corner of the launch fields. Easily guarded, and one of its companions sat at the gangway with blasters. Tarn debated, for a moment, summoning the others; he could take both of the traitors _here_ , then as a team they could use the shuttle for a quiet entry onto the Scavengers' main ship.

His target dropped the cargo it had hauled back to the shuttle down inside, called brightly back to the guard as it went back out. More errands. Tarn followed and began to close the distance slowly. He would take this target, circle back for the guard while he called for his team. Efficiency. And it would give him two kills to take his time with. To savor, as he had not in some time. He knew the exact moment his target became aware of him. It spun around, optics wide, to stare at the reality of the reflection it had seen bearing down on him. It broke and ran, forcing Tarn to do the same. It had to be in range to hear him, and this one knew of his ability. Herding it into the crowds was easy; it allowed fear to govern its actions. The crowds of aliens all taller than it, hindered it just enough for him to grab a flailing arm. A crowd cleared around them, and Tarn snarled at the aliens as he dragged his target away.

They knew him by his brand, if nothing else. Megatron might have abandoned the Cause, but Tarn would not. And this, this _thing_ would die for betraying its people.Tarn glared at the milling crowd until each alien resumed its purpose, and Tarn could drag the struggling parasite away for disposal. Lifting the scrap off the ground, Tarn slammed it against the wall and leaned in until his mask filled its vision. Singing softly, Tarn began to modulate his voice. Careful manipulation of his frequency output strung the scrap pile out at both ends of the pleasure/pain spectrum, to further its torment as it passed. It began to writhe in his hold, mouth opening in a scream it could not voice.

Honestly, Tarn could not have predicted the building's explosion. The shockwave threw them both against the far building. Tarn's head took most of the blow, and his processor hauled up in a defensive reboot. He woke out of the shutdown to the damned little scrap pile hauling him from the burning wreckage. He didn't know how it thought it could haul his much larger frame up the ladder, but it certainly tried. Tarn growled, startling it into dropping him. Climbing upright, he glared down at his victim. Cringing, the scrap pointed up, tremulously suggesting it was safer than facing the authorities. The Galaxy didn't like Cybertronians much and Decepticons less, it squeaked. Looking up, Tarn snarled again. He could hear this world's version of sirens approaching.

Tarn shoved the scrap pile aside and grabbed hold of the ladder. He knew the bit of scrap would probably follow him, and he decided to ignore it as he reached the roof. This once. Tarn did not want to explain himself to his team later.


End file.
